Clock Strikes Thirteen
by starscriptmage
Summary: Patience is not one of Makoto's virtues. But she's willing to be patient if that means she can see Chiaki again. Makoto/Chiaki.


She could wait. Yes, she could. She could wait for Chiaki. She could wait - she could wait - she could -

Patience is not one of Makoto's virtues.

She's miserable, and everyone, even her aggravating sister, even Mom - heck, even _Kousuke_ can see it. She's longing for something they can't quite see, peering at something that's invisible to them. Even her teachers think something's up when she doesn't even spout a protest at the announcement of a pop quiz. And when she splashes boiling oil all over her arms while making tempura - _nostalgia is overrated_ , she tells herself, but her mouth twists bitterly - she doesn't even scream, or rush to the nurse. Her classmates surround her, _are you okay, Konno-san_ s and _someone go get the teacher_ s ringing in her ears, but she doesn't think she remembers how to cry anymore.

At home, she lies down on her bed, staring first at her bandaged arm, then at the number on her arm. It's still at 00.

Makoto doesn't _want_ to wait.

But she waits, and she waits, and she'll continue to wait. She doesn't care if she's ninety when she sees Chiaki again, she's willing to wait as long as necessary just to see his face again.

But is that true?

Third year of high school ends, and suddenly, she's off to university. Fifteen becomes seventeen, and then, like the flash of the sun against a glass surface, she's nearly twenty.

(Sometimes, she still feels like she's a high school girl, and loud, and rowdy.

But other times, when she stares at the unblinking 00 on her arm, she feels older than a thousand.)

Makoto slowly, gradually, surely becomes the girl that politely declines invitations to mixers. People start recognizing her as the one who doesn't overdo her clothing, wears makeup sparingly, and refrains from even flirting subtly with the boys in her class. She becomes the one that watches as her friends transition from a group of many to a group of pairs. And she's the one Kousuke finds one day at their high school reunion, sitting on a hill and gazing off blankly into the sea.

"Makoto," he says somewhat awkwardly. "Not that I'm against you and Chiaki, but - "

That name strikes a chord in her chest, and she gapes, bewildered, at Kousuke, then -

"I know," Makoto sighs, her voice nearly gentle. Maybe she's gone soft after all these years, like a red bean bun steamed for too long. "Believe me, I know."

"Are you going to wait for him forever?"

There's concern in his voice - concern for her and for her future. Concern for her happiness, for her health, for her heart: the heart that has stopped aching and has started burning with pain. Makoto smiles up at him, knowing her answer like it's been imprinted deep within her bones.

"If that's what it'll take."

So she waits. She waits, like a princess out of a fairy tale… _Someday my prince will come_ , or something like that. Except she's not like Rapunzel, sitting in a tower, dreaming about when her prince would arrive. Except she's not Snow White, lying in a glass coffin, immobile, until her prince set her free. Except she's not Sleeping Beauty, stuck forever in time until her prince came to rescue her. She's Konno Makoto, and she will run forward. And she _will_ find him. Someday, Makoto _will_ reach her prince.

Years pass, and Makoto progresses well into her twenties. She watches as Kousuke gets a job, settles down, marries that girl he'd dated in high school - Makoto feels a slight prick of satisfied smugness at this - has a couple of kids. She starts making a living out of small, random jobs, then takes over her aunt's role. Ironic: now she really _can_ make sure the painting will be able to reach the future.

She grows tall, and her hair grows long, but before she cuts it to the length it was during her high school years, she hesitates - and has it cut to her shoulders. Maybe that'll give Chiaki a pleasant surprise, Makoto thinks, smiling. After they meet again.

Between babysitting Kousuke's kids, working, and sitting at her window with a cup of tea scalding one hand and a watch sitting in the other, that's what Makoto continues to do. She waits, and waits, and waits. Because it's bound to happen, her and Chiaki's reunion. It _will_ happen, it _will_.

Makoto knows she'll splinter apart if she even _thinks_ that it won't.

How long are you going to make me wait, Chiaki? she thinks to the wind. Nearly thirty, single, and now, she's talking to herself. Or to Chiaki. Her sister's just gotten engaged.

Makoto feels old. Ancient.

But she'll wait.

She will.

Thirty becomes thirty-five, then thirty-seven, and Makoto finds herself keeping an eye out for the familiar head of orange amid the crowds. She's stupid, but she's still a dreamer and a wisher at heart.

 _I wish that I could see Chiaki,_ she thinks when a shooting star skims across the sky. _I wish I could hear his voice. I wish I could smile at his antics. I wish I could flick his forehead._

 _I wish I could be with him._

Time waits for no one. _That_ she knows. But Makoto will wait for Chiaki, even if it takes forever. Because he's worth waiting for. Because he's the only one she's ever - the only one she'll ever - Because she - she -

Patience is not one of her virtues.

But love - bright, blazing, ferociously protective love - _that_ is one of her virtues, and she will run towards a future she's been waiting and waiting for, a future with Chiaki.


End file.
